Decided to watch the meteor showers last night, I had heard over and over that this was probably the last such event for 35 years. Sure, I could wait for the next one, but I am getting more and more farsighted, and at 90 years old I may not be able to see the next one.

So, I loaded up some equipment, 2 digital cameras, the old 35mm Canon, flashlight, laser pencil, tripod, and a few good guns. OK, maybe that last item was unnecessary, still, stand out under the stars and beside the road at 4 in the morning trying not to be night-blinded by the headlights of potential serial killers, and you will understand the whole "happiness is a warm gun" concept.

The Sci-Fi channel movie is Meteors, the Tom Wopat thing. Interesting choice, I would have gone with The Day of the Triffids myself, but I guess that might not be in their library.

Time passes, Sci-Fi is now running When Worlds Collide, George Pal seems to have done a reasonable version of the classic. Now, of course it would have been developed into a series.

It comes to be 2 am. The movie is reaching the stage where the writer is making the obvious statement that "bullets won't stop them." I go out to the bike and fire it up. I decide to ride north on 31, the old road that parallels I-65 through much of Kentucky and Indiana. There is a little ground fog out, I hope it doesn't get worse.

Through Sellersburg, a growing little slice of suburbia that is providing a good amount of light pollution. I throw off the effects of dirty light and head north, through Speed—a strange little suburb's suburb—and onwards to Memphis. The fog is getting worse.

I know there is a state park in this region. The entrance is foggy, I decide to pass it by, wipe a glove across my glasses and continue north.

An ever-so-slightly-clearer spot appears. I pull the bike off the road and fight the kickstand for a while, until the motorcycle finally stays upright. I check the fog with my laser pencil. The beam punches a red needle into the sky above me. This is not the spot. I clean my Patriots (unpaid product plug for safety glasses with replaceable lenses), fire the bike up, and head north.

Pigeon Roost national monument, picnic tables, dusk to dawn lighting, fog, definitely not the place.

Little town of Underwood. I had a friend in Underwood who years ago had tried to give me a German Shepherd, the dog had torn his garage door off and was chewing on it when he got home from work. I motor on through.

At last, a clear spot in the fog, I pull to the side of the road and carefully climb off the motorcycle. Checking with the laser, I find that there is 3 feet of haze about 20 feet above me. This is not ideal, but it is probably the best viewing I will get tonight. I point the laser at my hand and using the reflection of the light, read off the time as 4 am.

I unload the tripod, set it up. One leg has to be much shorter than the other two. I am on the side of a hill. There is enough haze to prevent me from seeing the normal run of meteor activity, but I do see four fairly bright objects fall through the sky. Only two of the objects are along the predicted radiant, so, I must be early.

It is cold. I don't usually consider 50 degrees to be cold, and I do have socks and gloves, but the fog is draining the heat from me.

I check with the laser, the fog has closed in completely. I will have to find another spot. I decide that there is as much of a chance of finding a good viewing spot going south as north, so I fire up the bike and head south. Visibility is down to 75 feet, I am probably doing 25 mph. There are no breaks in the fog.

Underwood, I turn right at the only intersection to check out I-65. There is no access to I-65 from Underwood, but I am able to look down from an overpass. I-65 is awash in fog.

The fog somehow gets worse as I continue south, the town of Memphis is a barely perceptible afterthought in the gray journey. I may be doing 20 mph. There is nothing to see but fog. Occasionally, the lines defining the road disappear; investigating, I find that I have been passing intersecting roads.

I pass a long limbo of existence, finally I make out the dim lights from the cement factory north of Sellersburg. I am almost there. There is a Waffle House in Sellersburg, but it is barred to me tonight because I am carrying weapons. Strange, they do allow smoking.

I continue down 31, but there have been no breaks in the fog since my stop north of Underwood. At some road whose name I know not, I turn right. The road ends in less than a mile, I am at the Davis Brothers truck stop that sets above I-65, food and warmth lure me in. I have breakfast and overhear the occasional comment from the truckers about how pretty the meteors had been tonight. I decide I will sit the next one out.

At home, I sit down to the computer and try to type this account, I fall asleep with the sounds of the Weather Channel murmuring from the TV, I dream of fog.

Story submissions go to editor@corporatemofo.com